CHAPTER 32
BRENDA'S POV
As soon as the man held my hand, I stiffened instantly.
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't visible to the crowd.
But inside me — everything tightened.
My eyes couldn't pull away from the depths of his. They were so much like Christian's. An endless abyss of either salvation or ruin. A dark and dangerous path carpeted by a fiery furnace, one that I had willingly walked on.
Those eyes did not simply look.
They assessed.
They remembered.
Such resemblance — was it possible?
It wasn't Christian because if it had been him, he would have said something to me. He would have recognized me. Claimed me. Challenged me. His accent too was proof. Thick. Deliberate. Foreign in a way Christian's never was.
And yet…
His touch.
God.
His touch was a poke at the half-buried memories that clawed my dreams and pierced my nights. The kind of touch that doesn't ask permission before unlocking doors you nailed shut yourself.
I swallowed, drowning the thoughts and everything that threatened to surface.
Can a person really fall in love at first sight?
Fall in love for the third time?
No.
No.
"You need to stabilize yourself," he spoke, his accent still thick. "Put your arms around my neck and I'll wrap mine around your waist, is that okay?"
The way he said it — calm, commanding, not asking but allowing me the illusion of choice.
I couldn't speak. I was too into him at the moment. Too consumed by the way his presence pressed into my space without apology.
My hands found their way around his neck.
His skin was warm.
He stepped closer.
Not rushed.
Measured.
His hands circled my waist, firm but not invasive. Possessive in a way that felt practiced.
I held his gaze.
He didn't back down.
A huge sign of dominance.
The world around us became noise without language. The squelch of grapes beneath our feet, the laughter, the applause — all distant. All irrelevant.
It was getting too much.
The closeness. The heat of his breath. The dangerous familiarity.
I looked away, my breath coming out ragged.
"Barrel 12 wins!"
The voice shattered the soundproof sanctuary that I had built around us.
Reality returned like cold water to the face.
I dropped my hands from his shoulders, suddenly feeling exposed. The intimacy had been too fast. Too deep. Too easy.
We stepped out of the barrel. Grape skins clung to my ankles. Juice dripped down my calves like evidence of something forbidden.
As people congratulated us, their applause felt far away. I could feel my feet sticking to the floor with every step — a soft tack, tack, tack against polished stone.
I had to wash my feet.
I walked toward the door, away from light and music and curiosity, and made my way to the little cottage outside.
The night air wrapped around me like a cooler second skin. The cottage sat tucked beside the vineyard, intimate and quiet. A small garden framed it — trimmed hedges, lavender bushes releasing a faint floral scent, and benches positioned beside small fountains.
The fountains carried warm water, steam rising faintly into the night like whispered secrets.
I sat down on one of the benches and lowered my feet into the water.
The heat embraced me instantly.
Grape juice swirled away in delicate purple clouds. The warmth loosened the tension in my arches, in my calves, in my spine. I closed my eyes as the heat made my nerves and body relax.
For a moment, I allowed myself to just exist.
"Señora, are you in need of any assistance?"
My eyes shot wide open.
It was him.
The mysterious man.
Standing there like he had followed a magnet's pull.
I shrugged, trying to keep myself composed. I was about to speak but stopped halfway.
His clothes spoke wealth in foreign currencies. Tailoring that fit like it had been measured by legacy, not tape. The fabric of his suit absorbed light instead of reflecting it. The watch on his wrist caught the faint glow of the fountain.
The way he carried himself screamed elegance.
And his accent whispered sophisticated.
I had to switch accents just to match this man's stature.
I couldn't let him know I had a ghetto streak.
"Not really! My feet just hurt a little but it's nothing I can't handle!"
I spoke lady-like. Polished. Measured. Just like the videos I'd seen on TikTok. Each word deliberate. Each vowel softened.
He tilted his head slightly.
"A little company perhaps?" He smiled.
That smile.
Even beneath the mask, it was devastating. Controlled. Knowing.
How I wished to rip that damn mask off his face.
I feigned hesitation and sighed. "That wouldn't hurt anyone now, would it?" I chuckled softly.
He sat down beside me, not too close, not too far. The kind of distance that suggested restraint — not lack of interest.
He gazed at the stars.
I followed his eyes, trying to see what he was seeing.
Above us, the Tuscan sky stretched endlessly. No city lights to compete. Just a blanket of deep velvet pierced by scattered diamonds.
"They're beautiful," he muttered, his eyes never leaving the sky.
If not for the accent, I would have sworn that it was Christian.
But it wasn't.
How I wished it was though.
"Maybe they're beautiful because they're so far away!" My voice had was strained. Sad.
The words escaped before I could dress them in pride.
That got his attention.
He turned slowly.
Those enticing eyes landed on me, studying — not just hearing my words, but examining what lay beneath them.
"Not quite the experience, huh señora?"
His voice was softer now. Less performance. More inquiry.
I shook my head in response.
And in the silence that followed, I felt something dangerous growing again.
Not lust.
Not yet.
"Welcome to the club," he chuckled lightly, but there was no real humor in it. "I had a girlfriend recently. I partially blame myself for breaking up with her in the first place. Pride, ego… timing." He exhaled slowly. "A week later, I decided I wanted to fix things. Only to find her ex in her house… cooking for her while she was asleep."
His jaw tightened beneath the mask.
"I didn't need an explanation. I put two and two together. I couldn't deny what I was seeing."
He scoffed softly, but the sound carried more injury than arrogance.
"Did you ask her about it?" I asked gently.
His eyes shifted to mine — dark, unreadable.
"There was no need," he replied. "Some things… you just know."
The way he said it made my chest tighten. This wasn't a man who was guessing. This was a man who believed he had been replaced.
The topic was sensitive — I could feel it. The shift in his breathing. The way his shoulders squared as if bracing against something unseen.
So I kept quiet.
We both looked back at the stars.
Silence stretched between us, but it wasn't empty. It pulsed. Every few seconds, I felt his gaze drift toward me. Every few seconds, mine betrayed me too.
Occasionally, our eyes would meet — and neither of us would look away immediately.
It felt dangerous.
I didn't know this man.
But I wanted to stay there forever.
Inside the house, laughter erupted as guests began gathering their things. The party was dissolving into the night.
"It was nice meeting you," he said softly. "I hope we do get to see ourselves… one of these good days."
The way he said it — see ourselves — sent a strange chill down my spine.
My insides shifted. Butterflies weren't fluttering. They were colliding against my ribs.
"Call me Hunter."
"Hunter, huh?" I tilted my head. "Unique. Is that your real name?"
He smiled beneath the mask — I could see it in the way his eyes curved slightly.
"Let's just say some people know me by my government name. But Hunter…" his gaze locked with mine, slow and deliberate, "that one's yours alone."
My pulse stumbled.
"Luna," I replied quickly. "Call me that."
Fake name. Fake accent. I was committing to the performance.
"Luna…" he repeated, tasting it like it meant something sacred. His eyes lifted to the sky thoughtfully. "The moon."
His gaze lowered back to me, slower this time.
"I'll call you."
My brows furrowed. "How?"
I hadn't given him my number.
He caught the flicker of unease immediately and smiled — reassuring, controlled.
"Relax. I was hoping you'd give it to me. If it's too soon, I'd understand."
"I'm staying at this house for some time," I replied. "The fact that you're here means you know the owners. Call the house. I'll pick up. And I'll have yours instead."
There it was.
A mutual agreement without surrender.
Our eyes locked again.
And for a moment — the world bent.
The vineyard disappeared. The masks disappeared. The past disappeared.
We were suspended in something that felt both reckless and inevitable.
He moved first.
Slowly.
Close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my lips before he even touched me.
Then he did.
A kiss.
Feather-light.
Barely there.
It wasn't greedy. It wasn't rushed. It was exploratory — like he was asking a question without words.
A small gasp slipped from me before I could stop it.
His hand tightened slightly at my waist — not forceful, just steady — and the kiss deepened. Not wildly. Not desperately.
But intentionally.
And for a fraction of a second, I responded.
My fingers curled slightly into his jacket.
My body leaned in.
Then guilt struck like lightning.
Sharp. Immediate.
We pulled away at the exact same time.
I don't know what stopped him.
But I know what stopped me.
Christian.
A man who wasn't even with me anymore.
Yet the thought of him burned through my chest like accusation.
What was he doing right now?
Was he in some strip club? Entertaining someone? Touching someone?
The thought made my face twist before I could hide it.
"I'm sorry," Hunter said quietly, his voice lower now. "I didn't mean to kiss you without your permission."
Such a gentleman.
He apologized.
Even though I had wanted it too.
It felt beautifully right.
And completely wrong.
"Enough of the eye flirting, let's go!" a man shouted from behind him.
Hunter didn't look away from me immediately.
"Goodnight, Luna," he said, like he was memorizing it.
"Goodnight… Hunter."
He stepped back slowly, like retreating from something magnetic.
I watched him walk away.
Each step felt symbolic.
Like the universe had just drawn a line I wasn't sure I was ready to cross.
He slid into the sports car. The engine purred to life.
I stood there long after he pulled away, watching the headlights carve through the vineyard rows until they were swallowed by darkness.
And somehow…
I knew.
That him walking away wasn't an ending.
It felt like the quiet beginning of something dangerously inviting.
Something that would either save me—
Or ruin me all over again.